


Do you remember still the falling stars?

by orphan_account



Series: The American Episodes [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15344580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack and Phryne are waylaid in Chicago during their cross-country journey. Jack's feeling broody. A two-chapter fic in my "American episodes" timeline for the July quote fic challenge.





	1. Falling Stars

**Author's Note:**

> A conversation with FireSign earlier in the day raised some good questions about the inside of Jack's head. I decided to turn a little piece of my answer into a fic prompted by this quote in the July quote challenge:
> 
>  
> 
> Do you remember still the falling stars  
> that like swift horses through the heavens raced  
> and suddenly leaped across the hurdles  
> of our wishes--do you recall? And we  
> did make so many! For there were countless numbers  
> of stars: each time we looked above we were  
> astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,  
> while in our hearts we felt safe and secure  
> watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,  
> knowing somehow we had survived their fall.  
> ~ Rainer Marie Rilke

**Chicago, April 1930**

“Hey look there! A shooting star,” a voice exulted. 

Jack turned — a full tilt of the next and slight dip of his right shoulder — to give a polite nod, the kind that any civilized human being would recognize as a request to be left alone. 

But Jack’s interlocutor only stepped closer, his nasally voice and rough manner sounding out across the open courtyard. “They ain’t even stars, ya know? They’re little bits of meteor or something burning up as they hit the earth and all. What’d ya wish for?” 

Jack fixed the man with a glare reserved for hardened criminals. Not only had the stranger knowingly interrupted his solitude, he had unknowingly attacked the foundation of one Jack’s only romantic notions. 

If it had been Phryne pointing to the rational and scientific — _“They aren’t even stars, darling. Just bits of meteoric space dust burning as they hit the outer atmosphere”_ — Jack would have made a case, in turn, for the animating spirit of a more personal form of magic — _“Then why do they follow us, love, showing up wherever we are?”_

But Phryne wasn’t here, was she? 

They weren’t even supposed to be in Chicago tonight. 

Spring storms had rumbled across the vast American prairie for the past three days, spawning tornados and hail storms that snarled regular rail traffic, turning a quick stopover into an extended stay. They could have pushed on as far as Des Moines or Omaha, but Phryne preferred the potential for excitement in Chicago. 

Up until this evening the reality of Chicago had disappointed her — the hotel room was too small and dark, the workmanlike lobby too quiet. When Phryne met a jazz-loving young couple at the corner automat who were headed to the Southside for a night of revelry, she jumped the chance to go along. Jack demurred. He’d seen enough of America’s illicit night clubs in New York. 

“What’s the matter with you, buddy? You a cop or something?” the man in the courtyard said loudly, breaking Jack’s reverie. The man removed a flask from the inside of his jacket in one swift motion, unscrewed the top, and took a swig. 

“It’s not my jurisdiction,” Jack replied, his first words aloud to the man. 

“I was starting to think you didn’t speak any English,” the man laughed. Tension broken, he held the flask out in Jack’s direction. “Looks like you need it,” he laughed again. “What ya doing out here anyways?” 

“I really don’t know, mate,” Jack replied, turning his eye back towards the dark, clear sky. 

There were countless numbers of stars. 

None fell. 


	2. Night and Day

Jack woke to the metallic creak of the water tap and a rush of water into the basin. A triangle of light escaped the cracked door of the en suite as he roused himself to a sitting position. 

Phryne was back. He had no rational reason to doubt that she wouldn’t be, but he wasn’t yet accustomed to any of this — waiting, worrying, and longing in _close_ proximity rather than far. 

“Any murders at the club?” he asked through the open door, reaching for a playful tone he didn’t quite feel. 

“Of course not darling. I would have called you,” she replied, matching his playfulness before quicksilver switching to the practical. “Would you help me with the fastening at the top of my dress here?” she asked, gesturing to a point between her shoulder blades, her tone entirely matter-of-fact rather than seductive. “Everything I’m wearing smells like cigarette smoke.” 

Jack joined her in the brighter light and made easy work of the metal fastening. Phryne had already lowered the zipper. With a quick shrug of her shoulders the gauzy fabric fell to the black slate floor tiles, its beadwork catching the light and shimmering like stars. 

Phryne adjusted the taps, then eased herself into the soothing bath. 

Jack moved to leave her in privacy, but Phryne caught his hand and searched out the reassurance of his eyes. “Sit with me a while,” she asked. “Tell me about your evening.” 

“Nothing to tell,” he replied, taking a seat opposite her on the broad edge of the tub. “Did you and the Thompsons find what you were looking for?” 

“At the first stop, no,” she answered. “Charles said this particular club was legendary two years ago, but so many of the best players have left recently in search of greener pastures. Tonight it was crowded with mobsters and other men passing themselves off as such – I didn’t get close enough to make fine distinctions. It’s good you didn’t come.” 

“We’ve got that settled then,” Jack muttered as he stood, not bothering to conceal the slight edge of anger underneath the irony. 

“That’s not what I meant, Jack,” she replied. “You would have been uncomfortable there, as a police officer, as you knew you would have been.” 

“You’d like me to be able to turn it on and off.” 

“I’d like you to sit back down.” 

Jack hesitated, innate stubbornness vying with reasonableness. She reached for his hand. Love tilted the scales. 

Once Jack took his place again, Phryne continued. “I haven’t told you the best part. Our second stop was sublime. Integrated bands aren’t allowed in the large clubs here in the Loop you see, but after hours many of the white musicians come to the South Side to play. We were invited to a rent party at the home of an extraordinary Negro singer.” 

“What’s a rent party?” he asked. 

“After a set, a hat is passed among the audience to collect funds — half to the musicians, half to the evening’s host. It’s a way for these artists earn something close to what their talent might fetch if unfair rules didn’t skew the outcome.” Phryne’s intelligent eyes shimmered as she spoke, her fire fed equally by a love for creative excellence as righteous anger against injustice. 

“You paid her full rent, didn’t you,” Jack said, his wide smile revealing his full admiration. 

Phryne beamed. “Of course I did, Jack. She was remarkable.” 

* * *

Later, Jack held Phryne close in the darkened bedroom, struggling against sleep as he replayed the movements of the evening in his mind. 

“How are we going to do this,” he whispered, sensing that Phryne was at least partially awake. “Your world is so much larger than mine.” 

“It’s not darling,” she answered. “Every corner of my world is open to you.” 

He thought of his the solidity of his desk at City South, the frosted glass with his name and title etched in. It seemed so very far away. 

“And if I don’t embrace that,” he ventured. 

“You’ve been embracing quite well,” she countered, deflecting with a tease and a kiss. 

“I’m serious, Phryne.” 

“And you’re thinking too far ahead. We do this day to day, as we have been here, as we’ve done in Melbourne.” 

“I know what it’s like when two people want different things. I won’t have that happen to us. I couldn’t bear it.” 

“And you’re so certain of that outcome that you’d stop things now?” 

“No,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t bear that either.” 

“There’s nothing to bear, Jack. We’re right here, together. I choose hope. I choose wild improvisation. I choose outrageous wishes and fanciful dreams and fierce commitment. I choose love. In the morning, you will too.” 

* * *

In the morning, the storms cleared. Phryne and Jack boarded a train bound west from Chicago, in the footsteps of pioneers, over the great expanse and obstacles of the American west. The train compartment afforded a view of wide sky. 

Late at night, with Phryne asleep, Jack watched the countless stars, each one a wish. They couldn’t all be wrong. 


End file.
